Korsakoff Syndrome
by Junsui Kegasu
Summary: He hadn't wanted to remember them, or her, or him, or that, but they just had to come back. Epilogue to Lost and Found DO NOT READ IF YOU LIKED THE ENDING TO THAT.


Korsakoff Syndrome

By: Junsui Kegasu

A/N: Damn you, Seme. Damn you to the fiery pits of Hell, but then get your ass back up to Ohio. (I love you n.n)

Disclaimer: Don't own this blurb's inspiration, Another Brick in the Wall; don't own KoRn, who doesn't own Pink Floyd. I don't own Naruto, but I _do_ own Lost and Found and this is a pretty little epilogue over here! I can't believe I'm doing this!

**NOTE: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU WERE SO HAPPY WITH LAF'S ENDING AND WOULD NEVER WANT TO SEE IT CONTINUED. THIS WILL ONLY KILL YOU.**

* * *

He always had hated the rain. Living in the desert, it was avoidable, and for that, he was happy. Before he _did that_ and _got here,_ he just stayed inside his house, smoked, drank, and was able to forget it was raining.

He was also able to forget other things, but that isn't relevant.

Now, when it rained, there was a leak in his part of the ceiling. That leak dripped down with an audible _plop,_ mocking him, laughing at him. Reminding him why he was in prison. It seemed so stupid now. Had he ever had a wife before? He couldn't remember. He barely remembered the name of the child who reported it all to the police, but he hadn't forgotten four years ago. Four years ago, he had wanted to go out and pound him into the floor worse than he _ever_ had done to…to…

To whoever the hell the other one was.

Sometimes he remembered little bits and pieces. Like this morning, he had woken up with a flash of memory that he hadn't quite forced from his mind yet: a child. He was really little, but his mind also told him he was fourteen. He didn't know why his mind had done that to him. He didn't want to see it. Not for the first time, he cursed the prison for taking away his cigarettes and never giving him alcohol.

He had always expected prison to be full of people moaning, screaming, or perhaps even talking to themselves, but it was deathly silent. In the beginning, he had hated it and tried to fill his mind with some of the annoying music that Kankurou had always blasted from his room when he thought he could get away with it. Wait, who was Kankurou? Or, rather, which one; there had been three, right?

His memory always came back in bits and pieces like this. He didn't want it to, but to beat his head against the wall would land him in some form of a shrink. Shrinks were worse than prison because shrinks were just as silent, but white with people who wouldn't think twice of killing you. He had never aimed to kill; just control. He needed to control what he couldn't when he was younger.

And this is where he was going to squeeze his eyes shut and try to forget it all. He didn't want to remember why he had _done that_ and that _she_ never got put away. It wasn't illegal back then; why the hell was it illegal now? A child was _yours_ until he was eighteen.

But then, he had escaped too, hadn't he?

Gritting his teeth against the waterfall of thoughts, he slammed his head against the wall. Just once – any more would attract suspicion from security. Pain blossomed on the side of his skull and his ear was ringing. Good, silence: taken care of. Memories: perhaps.

Or perhaps not, as the officer coming toward him he knew was someone who toured visitors…he didn't want visitors. They couldn't be for him. Or maybe they could. Maybe he'd beat their asses all over again. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't, maybe maybe maybe.

"Sabaku Kazekage, you have visitors," was the monotonous drone, as it always was.

"I don't want to see them," he snapped. Four years of prison hadn't taken away pride compiled over the years of being a political leader. He didn't know why _they_ wanted to see _him._ Hadn't eleven years been enough? Eleven years of what? He didn't remember that. He didn't want to. He didn't want to know these people! And what was worse was that the fucking officer who took care of this crap hated him. Very anti-child-abuse.

"Sir, you've refused visitors for four years. If you refuse this, I'll report you as insane and avoidant and we'll stick you in the cell with Kenji, who happens to have the same problem." Kenji had been in prison for twice his time. He had beaten, raped, and then tortured his wife to death. Far worse than anything _he_ did. He didn't want to be stuck with Kenji, though, so he just glared at that god damned officer. "Fine."

"I knew you'd see it our way."

They could visit; he just wouldn't look. He'd keep curled up like this, not remembering anything. Not remembering _her_, and the way _he_ had just left them alone. It was _his _fault. He left his four-year-old son with _her_ and made her bitter and it was _his_ fault that now _these brats_ were visiting and now he remembered most of it and he didn't want to!

Though he could sense them there (and rather horrific to himself, he could _see_ the little one standing there, playing with his hands and his sleeves, afraid but always eager to please, the older boy, standing protective behind his back and the girl beside them, watching sadly. That's how it had always been. Always always always) he chose to ignore them. They didn't want to see him; they just felt obligated to.

"Why the hell did you come back?" he said gruffly, hoping to scare at least the little one. He looked up to glare, and was more than a little surprised at the sight before him. Four years had changed them all, but he didn't want to remember what they were like back then. He didn't want to and now he did and he wanted to kill Kankurou again for tattling. "Why the hell would you _want to come back?_" he hissed, adding a tone of danger.

"'Cause…n-no one deserves to be alone on th-their birthday," came a whisper, and he was glad, because there was still fear there. He hadn't fully disappeared from the memory of that scared fourteen year old. Wait, it was his birthday? He sighed. "How old am I?"

"Forty-four," came another voice, icier. He didn't want to be here. It was obvious. He was still the same: blatant, guarding, and begrudged. They all looked so different now. Kankurou was so tall, now, or perhaps that was because he was sitting. Temari had grown too, and he started growing her hair out and doing more with it. The other one, though, _him_, was what was somewhat disturbing. He was actually an average height for eighteen (he hadn't forgotten mathematics) and maybe an average weight. He didn't know.

He didn't want to know.

He wanted them to go away.

"I don't know why the hell you'd come back," he told them bluntly. "I don't want to see you."

Of course, those bars probably made him seem so much less intimidating, because all he got was a glare, a glance downwards, and a glance away. Four years ago, he would've gotten a glance downward, a flinch and apology, and a lip-biting spree. He remembered now; his denial was over. He didn't know how long it would take to force it all away again, and he couldn't do a thing about it.

After a while (he thought it might've been hours, but it might as well have been minutes) Kankurou grabbed Gaara's arm (he was satisfied at the flinch) and muttered that they should go. Temari gave a fleeting glance back, he thought, but he wasn't paying attention. He needed to work on forgetting again. There was tight security in here at the moment because of visitors, so he couldn't bash his head against the wall. He'd have to do this the long way.

First step: denial. He had not seen them. They had not seen him. _She_ never existed. _That_ never happened. He had never been married.

First step: failure.

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A/N: ….I hate you, Seme…this is kind of…bad…rather drably…not sure about the ending, but you know what? SO SHOOT ME. 


End file.
